


like a tidal wave I'll make a mess

by crackers4jenn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel/Dean Winchester in Purgatory, Episode Related, Gap Filler, M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29244930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackers4jenn/pseuds/crackers4jenn
Summary: 5 Times Dean and Cas Get Mistaken for a Couple (and 1 Time They Actually Are)“I don’t understand your fixation,” Cas says, his tone making it perfectly clear he would be rolling his eyes, if he hadn’t already earlier that night when Dean slugged him across the shoulder good-naturedly and told him, “Look sharp. We’re going out.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 118





	like a tidal wave I'll make a mess

**Author's Note:**

> This is v. self-indulgent and pretty sappy. Each section is from a different season, and I tried to make that as obvious as possible, but if you need a hint, there's a cheat sheet in the End Notes.

01\. 

The day's been kicking his ass. Bobby’s glaring more than usual. Sam’s—well, whatever the hell he’s out there doing. And Cas, Thou Art with a Stick Up His Own Ass, has taken to following Dean around like he’s some runaway toddler with one of them backpack leashes.

At the diner Dean's stopped at just to get out of the house, Cas ignores the entire open side of the booth and drops down next to Dean, close. Too close.

To the ceiling, Dean silently doles out his frustration and kinda hopes God actually is around and listening, because his kid? Is a socially awkward freak.

Like he senses Dean’s thought process, or maybe he’s just got himself some God'dar that sounds the alarms whenever Dean brings him up, even internally, Cas tilts his head and squints at Dean to try and scan his soul.

Dean lets out a long suffering sigh and signals to the waitress that he’s ready to order.

Cas is still staring when the older woman comes up beside them, taking out a pad of paper from her apron and a pen from behind her ear. She eyes Cas curiously, because he’s a weird dude, but asks Dean, “What can I get for you boys?”

Dean slides both menus they’d been given her way.

“Cheeseburger and the biggest bucket o'fries you got.”

She scribbles it down. “Anything to drink?”

“Whatever’s on tap.”

Cas's squint turns more damning. Probably he finds it blasphemous that Dean’s gonna pollute his liver so soon after he swore to give himself over to God and all the angels.

Dean doesn’t take his eyes off Cas as he grins and adds, “Make that two.”

There’s a short pause. “And for you?”

That’s to Cas, but Cas is still staring at Dean, deeming the exchange unimportant.

“Burger, and we’ll go 50/50 on the fries,” Dean speaks up, offering the lady a 'he's shy, what can you do?’ smile like that might cut it.

Cas informs him, “I don’t need to eat—”

“Red meat,” Dean blurts before things get weird. Weirder. “New diet.”

“No,” Cas says, his tone making it pretty clear he finds Dean to be dumber than usual, “in general. You know this. Angels don’t—”

“Come to think of it, you mind adding a slice of pie to the order? For pre-fuel.” Dean lays on the charm, to make up for Cas.

She ain’t buying it, but she sticks her pen and pad back where she got ’em and tells Dean, her cautious gaze on Cas only a second, “Should be out shortly.”

Once she’s booking it back towards the kitchen, Dean levels Cas with a scowl. “Really? Think you can dial your whole 'never leaves the basement' serial killer vibe down some?” Cas’s eyes flit back and forth between Dean's own, which tells Dean that Cas is taking his words literally and is probably wondering how the hell a basement fits in. Dean closes his eyes briefly against the headache to come. He orders, “ _Blend in_.”

One, then two, then three seconds of uncomfortably close staring pass, and then Cas, for the first dang time since they sat down, finally looks away. “How?” he asks, and then adds with some hostility, “Would you like me to 'blend' 'in' exactly?” 

The finger quotes, jesus. Just kill him.

Cas observes the other diner-goers with serious scrutiny. It’s 2pm on a Tuesday, so it’s basically just tired-looking old people and big, burly truckers, and they’re mostly eating alone.

The sight of so many men sitting solo at the bar makes him all too aware of Cas’s close proximity.

“You can start by moving,” Dean tells him.

Again Cas's gaze swivels back over to Dean, his eyes immediately searching for something. Dean waits it out, but when Cas says and does nothing, Dean gestures with his head to the padded booth across from them.

Cas stares at it like he doesn’t understand its purpose. He asks, “Why?”

Dean balks. “Because!” he sputters.

Once more, the seat is on the receiving end of one of Cas’s does-not-compute squints.

Why is this his life. Dean squeezes his eyes shut to try and summon some peace, but as soon as he opens them again, his gaze is snagged by Cas, who claims it automatically.

Fine. He’s been meaning to talk about this.

“You don’t sit this close,” he tells Cas, with a one-handed sweep at the lack of space between their bodies. “Especially not to other guys.”

“You realize I'm a multidimensional messenger of God? I don’t have a gender, so whatever hang-ups you have, I assure you are unnecessary.”

Dean stares. And then he blinks. “You, maybe not. The guy you’re hitching a ride in?” With a wink that’s more of a defense mechanism than anything, Dean tells him, “Pretty sure he’s all horn.”

Cas squints even more.

Dean wills himself the mental fortitude to keep going. “That’s not the point. I'm sayin', you sit this close, everyone'll think we're, you know.” Cas's stare let’s Dean know, no, he doesn’t in fact know. Dean somehow gets out, “ _Together_ ,” but he says it like it’s something he’s blaming Cas for.

At least it makes Cas look away. He seems completely unconvinced, though.

He seems, actually, to find the whole idea ridiculous.

“What?” Dean pushes.

“I didn’t realize you were so preoccupied with romantic relations.”

Something kicks Dean's brain.

Panic. Or the first, up close inspection of something Dean's been pretty good at repressing so far, maybe.

“Uh. I'm not?”

“Why would anyone assume you and I were in coital alliance?”

Dean chokes just from inhaling air. His eyes start watering, which gets Cas laser-focused on him again. The damn prick doesn’t even look affected by what’s basically now a vibrant visual living inside Dean's head.

Coital alliance—sonuvabitch.

“Could you not? Ever?” He attempts to wince himself into some self-control. “Look, I’m not having that conversation with you. Because I refuse. But--I got a bubble, you’re inside it, uninvited, and I'mma need you to stop askin' questions and start vamoosing.”

That’s when the waitress swings back around.

She drops a warm plate of even warmer pie onto the table in the shared space between Dean and Cas, which is a little odd, until Dean notices there are two forks. For one slice.

“You boys enjoy.”

Offering up a smile that boasts of allyship, she nods and takes back off, humming softly to herself.

With every single part of his body holding up a megaphone and screaming 'I TOLD YOU SO,' Dean rotates stiffly and stares at Cas.

After a long, long silent exchange of 'I tire of your stupid human reservations' and 'I don't care; move,' Cas, with a sigh that resembles Dean's from earlier, finally gets up as asked.

Immediately the tension drains from Dean’s shoulders, now that his entire left side isn’t being pressed up against by a multidimensional messenger of God, or whatever.

Cas sits down across from him, grouchy about it, and gripes.

02.

“I don’t understand your fixation,” Cas says, his tone making it perfectly clear he would be rolling his eyes, if he hadn’t already earlier that night when Dean slugged him across the shoulder good-naturedly and told him, “Look sharp. We’re going out.”

They’re in the middle of bumfuck, Nebraska—Sam and Dean, on a hunt; Cas, on a pit stop while he continues searching for daddy desertedest—so the bar ain’t anything to write home about, but it’s got more than just the locals kicking around, which is saying something.

Sam hung back at the motel, choosing solitude over the nightlife. That’s fine. He’d probably be riding some moral high horse right now anyway.

Dean eyes a woman down the bar who keeps eyeing them back, her tank top pulled down just a little bit lower each time. He nods at her to reel her in, telling Cas distractedly, “Dude, you need this, okay. Trust me.”

The woman wraps her mouth around her straw pretty suggestively, maintaining eye contact the whole time, from tongue to swallow.

Cas is at the stool next to him. For blending in purposes, he's got a bottle of his own beer on a coaster in front of him, but he isn’t drinking. Not that you’d know from how maudlin and moody he's been since he sat down. Dude's practically moping.

Letting out a sigh, Cas says, “Dean.”

Dean tears his eyes away from what's looking like a sure bet. “She not your type?” he asks him before genuinely considering it. He’s just been running on the assumption that any ol' attractive woman would do—you know, first time and everything. It’s not like Cas was gonna last long enough to make a night out of it. Not like they were gonna stay up and talk either.

With a duck of his head that reeks of embarrassment, Cas says, “You’re very determined to see this happen.” Dean's mind automatically whirs to life to protest—he doesn’t wanna _see_ anything actually, thank you—but Cas looks back up. “Why?”

Dean sputters, “Man, because. It’s fun! It feels good! And when life sucks, as it does, so, so friggin’ much lately, it’s just—nice—to check out.”

“So, it’s a means to distract,” Cas cuts to the point of what Dean’s trying to say here.

“I mean, yeah,” he leans in, talking lowly out the side of his mouth, “but you say it like that, we're gonna have a repeat of last time.” When Dean and Cas got chased out of that brothel by two big dudes and some angrily flung high heels.

Not that that wasn’t hilarious.

It had been a pretty good night, all things considered. One of the better ones in recent memory.

Cas already has his distractions, though, and maybe that’s the problem here.

Dean swivels Cas's way, angling in. “You gettin' any closer to finding him?”

Cas lifts a finger and starts picking at the beer label. “No.”

“Got any leads, like, I don’t know. ‘California man walks on water'?”

Dean's rewarded with a huff that’s close to being a laugh.

“The problem is, those are exactly the leads I have. The only leads I have. And they all tend to be more pointless than the last.”

After a pause, Dean leans his elbows on the bar counter. With this new closeness, his left leg slides up against Cas's and then just sorta… stays, where it’s warm and solid. “You need any help? Say the word, me 'n Sam can wrap things up. Tag along. Hell, you got my amulet tryin' to catch a signal. Maybe I need to be there for it to work.”

Cas looks up and then over, straight into Dean's eyes, heavy with an anguished gratitude. For a while Dean holds his stare and offers back nothing but support.

Just as it’s turning into something a little too intimate, Cas's gaze flicks past Dean’s shoulder. His eyes grow wide and he ducks his head back down.

Dean's working to make sense of Cas's mood switch when a hand slides silkily across his shoulder. Then the woman from down the bar slips into view, and into the space between Dean and Cas, her other hand sliding over Cas's shoulder, pulling both him and Dean in.

“Hey,” Dean greets with a question mark in his voice. His eyes skip over to Cas, who seems pre-panic.

“Hello, handsome. And handsome.”

The way she’s got them both wrangled, it makes it very hard not to sway with her.

She says, “I’m gonna be forward here, because I’m getting the feeling you’re changing your minds, but. I'm in.”

Dean tries to look beyond the chest full of boobs to meet Cas's eyes and gloat. He knew he could friggin' get him laid. And he didn’t even have to do anything but waggle his eyebrows a little.

The woman leans down toward Cas, who shies away when she purrs in his ear, “Been with a lot of couples before, but never two guys at the same time.”

The leer on Dean's face? Zapped clean off.

“Woah, hold up—”

Cas is hauling himself off the stool, which untangles them. Her arm drops away and Cas says, “I think there’s been a mistake here. That wasn’t our intention. Dean, can we--?”

He only meets Dean's eyes at the end of all that, and even then the 'go' is implied and it’s with some pleading rather than a command to leave posthaste.

The woman stumbles back a step. “My bad.”

Dean slips off his own stool. He swallows one last, long pull of beer before setting it down and offering up a fake smile. “You know what, you? Have a nice night.”

The woman's glare lets him know she probably won’t.

With a flair of his trenchcoat, Cas turns and starts charging for the exit. Dean squeezes past the woman, attempts an awkward apology along the way, then straight up bails, rushing after Cas.

03.

“Cas, will you just hold on—dammit, Cas. Cas!”

As Cas stalks off, probably straight into a nest of leviathans with the way their luck's been running, Dean watches him go, something dropping painfully in his gut.

He makes a move to follow, but a hand latches onto his shoulder from behind to stop him.

“Now, Chief,” drawls Benny, “seems like he needs a minute alone.”

Dean tugs himself out of Benny's grip, his eyes still tracking the bundle of trees Cas disappeared into. “He’s gonna get himself killed.”

Benny makes a soft, disagreeing noise. “The way I remember it, he was doin' just fine by his lonesome before we showed up.”

That snaps Dean's attention his way. Damn if it doesn’t sting. At the glare he knows he’s giving, Benny intentionally eases up, making a show of it.

“You wanna chase after him, by all means. Not like we got other places to be.”

“ _I told you._ We’re not leaving without—”

“And I heard you. I wouldn’t dream of suggestin' otherwise. All I’m sayin' is—”

“Yeah? What?”

Benny smiles, nice and slow. Dean ignores what he sees there. “No use standin' around. We might as well keep movin’.”

“No. No way. Cas is—”

“Gonna come flyin' back to you one way or another. We could at least be that much closer to gettin' outta here when he does.”

Dean grits his teeth and stares back at where Cas left. Damn son-of-a-bitch. “Fine,” he allows, and only starts trekking forward through the tangle of branches because he knows Benny’s right. Cas will find him.

Doesn’t mean he has to like that Cas up and left in the first place.

How many ways can he tell the guy he doesn’t care about what happened topside? That the plan, the only plan, is that Cas is going home with him, and if that means they hafta figure out some other way than the portal Benny’s been leading them to, so be it. But Cas won’t quit trying to say sorry, he won’t stop looking for a reason to stay behind.

After a minute or two of trailing along, letting Dean tumble around inside his own thoughts, Benny swipes his knife through some bramble and grunts, “How'd you two meet anyway? You never said. And the way I figure, there’s gotta be a story there.”

Dean gives his own grunt back.

“You’re not tellin'?” When Dean just barrels forward in silence, Benny huffs. “I get it. Love's a squirrelly thing.”

Dean stops dead in his tracks and turns around. Benny was far enough behind they don’t run into each other, but he still acts like he has to slam on the brakes. His eyebrows are clear up his forehead, and Dean asks, “What’d you say?”

He feels something start to come loose.

“Been sayin' a lot of things…”

So they’re playing a game here. Dean hefts his blade over his shoulder.

Benny laughs, a low, lazy chuckle. “You’re awfully protective of him.”

“Yeah. Because he’s _my friend_.” That doesn't quite cover it though. “He’s family.”

Benny says, “Mm-hmmm,” and his eyes are lit up with a merriment that’s at Dean's expense.

Dean stiffens his gaze. In the lull, the truth comes nice and easy. “The dude pulled me outta Hell. Okay? I made a deal, got myself a pair of Hellhounds the one-year anniversary. Died. And Cas…” Dean clears the emotion out of his throat. “Cas saved my ass. He brought me back.”

Something clicks for Benny. Enough to make him drop the crap. “Loyalty’s got one helluva grip.”

Yeah, except it ain’t just that. If it was, they probably wouldn’t push each other away all the time, and it wouldn’t leave such an open wound when they did.

Benny makes a low, whistling sound, like he’s picking up that things are a little more complicated than he thought. “My, my.”

Glaring harder, Dean swings back around and keeps going. Benny, after a moment, stays on his heels.

“So. Cas. Your _friend_ , then.”

Whatever Benny’s trying to hint at gets interrupted by a blur of leviathans landing straight ahead, a sudden ambush.

From right beside him, there’s a familiar whoosh of angel wings. Cas says, with urgency, “ _Dean_.”

Dean has half a second to feel the rush of relief before all hell breaks loose.

04.

“Follow my lead,” Dean tells Cas, leaning in to keep his voice at a hushed murmur.

They’re standing at the doorstep of the home their recently departed, already angry ghost, a guy by the name of Lorenzo Manning, lived at up until about six weeks ago. The porch is decked out in bundles of balloons to match the sign at the curb letting everyone know there’s an open house today.

Cas catches what Dean’s really saying here—namely, that he’s awkward as hell when it comes to this part, so maybe he oughta try and dial it back some—and he glares straight ahead. “I know what I’m doing, Dean.”

Dean swats at a wind chime the breeze blows in his face. Friggin' suburbs. “Yeah, okay.”

Cas levels him with a stare that, faltering mojo or not, could wipe out a few city blocks. “What, so I only learned basic skills once _you_ came along? Don’t be so presumptuous.”

“Dude, you suck at talking to people. Point blank.” Dean swipes his hand clear up and down, referring to Cas as a whole, like that explains anything. “You’re a freakin’ robot who, frankly? Could use a little lube time, y'know what I me—”

The door pulls open and a cheery-looking lady greets them with a warm smile that immediately falters as she picks up on the tension in front of her.

“—eannnn, helloooo,” Dean's words turn into. He easily makes the switch from busting Cas, to Stepford ankle-grabber.

The woman smiles. “Hello. Do you two have an appointment?”

Cas tells her, “We saw the sign.” He keeps his eyes locked intensely on her, enough so that she grows uncomfortable under his stare.

Dean says, with his own eyeballs demanding Cas tone it down, “I hope this isn’t a bad time,” and he starts to step his way in without an invite.

She backs up and allows it. “Normally, you’d be out of luck, but. What do you know! We've had a few cancellations, so…”

Dean grins at Cas as he walks through the threshold, then whistles while he comes all the way inside, with Cas following close after. “Bigger than it looks.” The door closes behind them.

Sales mode activated, the woman says, “My name's JoAnne,” and then leaps right into her real estate shtick. She starts telling them about vaulted ceilings and how long the property's been on the market, what the neighborhood is like.

When she turns her back and starts leading them toward the kitchen, Dean widens his eyes at Cas and jerks his head toward the bedrooms where he figures the attic will be. Manning’s family told Sam they left some of his belongings behind to furnish the house while they were trying to sell it. Makes sense to check out the spookiest part first. They don’t even know what the hell they’re looking for. Kind of a—they'll know it when they see it sorta thing.

Cas rolls his eyes at Dean's continued lack of faith in him, but he heads off down a hall. Or, starts to, anyway.

“Oh,” JoAnne notices. She’s gesturing toward the kitchen with a recently manicured hand, but she’s saying, “Did you wanna see the bedrooms first? The master has a double sink.” Her voice is full of conspiratorial glee, and before Dean can redirect her to keep her distracted, she’s blowing past him, grinning happily.

Cas, with an apologetic slouch, lets her pass him too.

The bedroom's not too shabby, all things considered.

JoAnne catches Dean craning his neck looking for any signs of an attic. She brags, “Popcorn ceiling. It’s vintage.”

He snorts. _Yeah, and so is the asbestos that comes with it._

Cas and JoAnne both stare at him. The realtor, because he’s being a dick, and Cas, to gloat. Because maybe Dean doesn’t have the best people skills either.

“Neat,” Dean lies.

Pleased, JoAnne heads toward the master bathroom.

Dean moves over to Cas. He hovers close, notes pretty quietly, “No attic.”

“No, but.” There’s a leatherbound book on the side table beside the bed. Cas stares pointedly at it.

Realizing the bedroom tour is still going on, JoAnne comes back out. Something about the sight of Dean and Cas invading each other’s personal space makes her say conversationally, “Are either of you from around here?”

“No. Listen. JoAnne,” Dean starts, trying to come up with a believable reason to get her to give them, oh, five minutes of alone time. That should do it. “Uh, you think—”

“I hope you can feel how inclusive our little community is. The schools here especially, for children who come from all types of… progressive backgrounds. Do you have any kids?”

Something is screaming very loud inside his head.

He looks over at Cas, baffled, and finds him staring back with his eyes blown open a little too wide to be playing it cool.

Dean opens his mouth to, you know, defend his heterosexuality, but Cas beats him to the punch—and loses his damn mind.

Cas throws an arm around Dean's shoulders. It’s so obviously the most awkward thing in the world—he does it like he doesn’t know where his hand should wind up, so it just _flops_ —but he says, sounding only a little stilted, “No, Dean and I haven’t yet… procreated.”

A beat passes that’s uncomfortable for literally everyone.

“He means adopt,” Dean tells her, with a look at Cas after that optically shouts: _This is the opposite of what I asked you to do! This is toning things up! Down, Cas! I said down!_ “Don’t you?”

“Of course…” The longest pause in the world. “…sweetie bear,” Cas agrees diplomatically. Dean, meanwhile, loses half his working brain cells in the mental explosion that follows.

JoAnne looks pleased that a potential relationship spat was resolved before her very eyes. Pointedly, she walks back towards the bathroom. “I think you'll both enjoy the large shower, and it’s dual showerheads, and full bench seating—”

“Can we please be left alone now?” Cas interrupts. He squints and says, “We’d like to test out... the acoustics of the room. For intercourse reasons.”

Dean's stomach launches itself clear up his throat. His windpipe is under duress.

JoAnne's smile drops and some of the light fades from her eyes, but apparently this must be a frequent request because she forces some pep and says, “You betcha,” then scoots on out of there with a glance that says ' _please don’t stain anything_ ' before she closes the door behind her.

Dean drops away from Cas the second he hears the knob click. “The hell are you thinking?!” he whisper-yells, barely able to get out the words, “’Intercourse reasons'?! That’s what you come up with? _That_?” He’s full-on gaping.

Cas, on the other hand, is entirely unbothered by Dean's outburst, and the reason for it. He strides toward the book. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but. Now she thinks we’re in here…”

He refuses to say it again. His stomach falls back down where it belongs, lighting up his nerves along the way.

“So?

“Ugh. I feel skeevy,” Dean says with a cringe.

Cas doesn’t say anything to that. He picks up the book and starts flipping through it. At first, with intent, then after a couple pages, with some curiosity.

“That it?” Dean asks, calming down. Well, repressing.

Cas shows him the spine. 'Lorenzo Manning' is engraved along its length. Bingo.

“Hide it and let’s get outta this nightmare—”

Cas has summoned a lighter from his pocket, that he flicks open and wastes zero time producing a flame with. He holds the book out and lights it on fire.

“Or, we could be pyros,” Dean snarks.

Thirty actual seconds later the book has to be thrown in a waste basket as it succumbs to its ashy ending, just as the smoke alarm starts to blare.

Cas gives him another one of those 'I had good intentions, but oops' stares. No time to lecture. Dean grabs Cas by the sleeve and yanks him forward, but his momentum is off. Cas winds up crashing into his back, which is when JoAnne bursts into the room, frantic-looking.

From her vantage point, this probably looks pretty bad.

There are still plumes of smoke wafting out of the trash.

The alarm is wailing loudly.

And Cas is tangled up behind him, so close that pure, good old-fashioned self-preservation is the only thing keeping Dean believing that’s the lighter in Cas's pocket he feels nudged against his left ass cheek. A very big lighter.

“The acoustics are… unsuitable,” Cas blurts.

JoAnne can’t even form words.

“Think that’s our cue,” Dean tells her, then looks over his shoulder at Cas and adds dryly, “Honey.”

Back in the car, Cas pulls his buzzing phone out of a pocket. Dean looks over as he answers. “Sam. Hello—yes, we just—there was a book—we burned—yes—oh—” Cas's eyes flit over to Dean’s and stay. “—of course—I’ll tell him. Goodbye.”

Dean already knows. He already freaking knows.

Cas clears his throat. “Lorenzo Manning hasn’t yet been put to rest.”

“Sonuva—”

05.

“Dude, get back in there.”

Cas's sigh trickles through the phone line. “Dean.”

He keeps going, ready to rally. “You gotta jump back on the horse. Strap on your boots and saddle up, big guy.”

“How is this a useful metaphor?”

Dean laughs a little to himself and leans back against his headboard, his legs laid out in front of him. He’s cradling a beer in his lap, already a couple swallows in. “I’m just sayin'. The babysitting gig? Probably a misunderstanding, man.”

“I think her intentions were perfectly clear. And anyway, Nora’s my boss.”

“Yeah, who keeps sticking you with the crap shifts. You said she made you work a double this weekend.”

“Well, I need the money.”

“Okay,” Dean snorts. “You got a lifestyle to maintain?”

“Ideally I'd like a place to sleep that wasn’t a storage closet. A bed would be nice.”

Cas's longing is coming through loud and clear. Dean feels it slam into his chest, wiggle around in there. Light up all his guilt.

Cas says, oblivious to it, “Anyway, how are you? Are you, um. Hanging wild this weekend?”

The awkwardness of Cas feeling, and failing, his way around a phrase no one on Earth has ever said before, does its damnedest to cut the tension. It half-succeeds. Dean huffs out, “Layin’ low, actually. We've been here I don’t even know how long now, and me and Sam’re still going through all sortsa boxes—old grimoires, some cursed objects—dude, we found a friggin' file on _Sasquatch_.”

“Sounds compelling.”

“Try ‘boring as hell.’ You know how many migraines I’ve had the past two weeks? How many allergies?”

There’s a smile in Cas's voice. “And Sam--?”

“Pretty sure I caught him massagin’ one out over some geek spellbook. Freak,” Dean says with some fondness.

“We all have our needs, I suppose,” Cas offers.

Like a kid with a loose tooth, Dean pokes at it. “Yeah, well, I still say you should give it another go. With your boss.”

Cas's voice sounds a little more tired than before. “You know that’s unwise.”

“She’s probably just waiting for you to make a move, man.”

“I doubt that.”

“Seriously. She was testin' things out the first time, makin' sure you weren’t a serial killer—you got them vibes sometimes—"

“Dean,” Cas interrupts. There’s a pause, and then, “She thought you were my ex.”

“She—“ Dean's mouth goes dry.

Reluctantly, Cas tells him, “After you left, Nora asked if I would be leaving too. I told her I hadn’t planned on it, and then she asked how long you and I… the implication was that we were previously romantically involved.”

“Did you—” Dean swallows. “You cleared things up though?”

“No,” Cas admits, and while Dean struggles with the enormity of that, Cas breathes out a guilty laugh. “It was less complicated than the truth.”

Okay. He gets that. Still.

“Does this upset you?” Cas asks him, after another pause. There’s some regret making it's way through the phone.

“No. I get it. It’s fine.”

“I could clear things up next time,” Cas suggests. “Tomorrow—”

“Cas, it's fine. You’re right. Better she thinks that than, you know—” A bitter noise escapes him.

“It’s safer this way,” Cas agrees like he’s reciting something back at him, and Dean can feel the double meaning, can all too easily dredge up the hurt Cas blasted him with the last time they said goodbye, back in Rexford. 

Hoarse, Dean says, “Yeah,” and then he feels the truth bubbling up to the surface, wanting to claw its way out of him. He sets his beer aside, raking his hand down his face. “Cas…”

“Besides, I'm not interested,” Cas says, and it tumbles out so fast, it distracts Dean from what he’s trying to say. “In Nora. Romantically.”

He can’t help it: “Oh?”

“I thought I was, but I realize now I was more enthralled with the idea of being accepted.”

There goes that guilt slamming into him all over again. He feels weighed down with it, feels it down to his bones, and wonders if he’ll ever catch a break here. If it was anyone else but Sam's life on the line, _anyone else_ , Dean would risk it, Cas would be with them, but instead he's bound by this self-sacrificing need to keep Sam safe, even when it costs him—

Even when it costs him.

“Dean?”

“I’m here.”

“Okay.” A beat. “I don’t want you to feel burdened.”

“Little too late for that,” squeezes out of him.

“Just to remind you, this is all _my_ fault.”

“It’s really not, Cas.”

“Well, I have personal evidence that proves otherwise.”

“You got duped. That’s not on you.”

Caa doesn’t sound at all convinced, but he says, “Thank you, Dean,” with meaning.

Dean, again, feels close to spilling, feels the urge to mend things and have Cas home, screw the consequences, feels it like a ticking time bomb.

00.

“Dean, you don’t have to,” Cas says, standing at his side, a little too close. “There’s no pressure here.”

From the entranceway, Dean's watching Sam bustle around the kitchen, distracted by a video call with Eileen. Dean and Cas haven’t quite crossed the threshold, so their presence has gone unnoticed.

“I know,” Dean tells Cas, his stare locked dead ahead, “but. I wanna. I'm gonna,” he insists, to himself as much as Cas.

A reassuring hand lands at his shoulder, then soon winds up the back of his neck, clasping pretty damn intimately. 

Dean closes his eyes and leans into the comfort Cas is offering.

Low, warm, and damn seductive, Cas says, “You know, if we continue to keep this to ourselves—” There’s a pointed squeeze right then that lights a line of fire along Dean's nerves, a bolt that travels straight down to his toes, with a centrally-located stopover. “We can sneak around some more. Remember our last spar?” 

Boy, does he. And if he didn’t, he’s got the pad burn on his ass to prove it.

“You kinky sonuvabitch,” Dean murmurs, drawn to Cas, who falls in close, who's mouth has a tantalizing pull Dean's become unable to resist since they yanked his ass outta the Empty some three weeks ago.

A loud metallic clatter makes them jump apart.

“Sorry,” Sam says, to Eileen, “I dropped the—”

With a now-or-never leap off the proverbial cliff, Dean heads on into the kitchen, with Cas quick to follow. “You could just _not_ do whatever you’re doing,” he tells Sam, eyeballing the mess on the counter where Sam dropped a baking tray.

Sam pulls his prissiest frown while Dean surveys the scene in front of him: dough sticking to the steel countertops; flour all over; an overturned mixing bowl; a burnt batch of a first attempt.

Into his tablet, Sam signs and says, “I gotta go. See you later?” Eileen signs something back that makes Sam flush—makes Dean wag his eyebrows at Cas in teasing—and then he hangs up.

He stares at Dean after, expectantly. Just waiting. Ready for the mocking to come. Embracing that it will happen. 

Dean takes the high road.

Well, more like the morally shady road, because he’s trying to work up the nerves here to say out loud 'i'm in a sexually active relationship with my best friend who i'm pretty in love with so how about investing in some noise cancelling headphones because from here on out, get ready for the PDA.’

“So, uh, me and Cas—” Dean seeks out Cas immediately, who offers up a reassuring gaze and comes to his side. “We got some news.”

Since Dean's not busting his chops, Sam’s attention drifts elsewhere. Namely to his failed baking. He turns over that dropped baking tray and reveals yet more burnt discs.

“Sam,” Dean calls, his voice gruff.

“Yeah, I’m listening. You and Cas,” he prompts.

Dean sneaks a glance at Cas, who squints, but encouragingly. 

“Right, we. Uh, me and Cas, that is. We’re, y’know, batting for the same team here,” is the first thing that comes to mind.

Dean flat-out refuses to acknowledge that the encouragement has left Cas's squint, replaced only with confusion, and some judgment. 

Sam looks up sharply. “Cas is into sports? Since when?”

Cas clears his throat. “I can assure you, I'm as indifferent as ever. Except,” Cas rushes to say, because Dean, sorry sack that he is, can’t help but take that personal. “In this particular instance, that I'm incredibly invested in, for the unforeseeable and long-term future.”

What a sap. Damn does Dean love him.

Sam says, “Oh… kay?” while Dean basically makes bedroom-eyes at Cas, right there for anyone to see.

Which is the whole point. Dean makes himself focus. He says, “We’re together, me ‘n him,” and feels like his heart might beat out of his chest, now that that’s out there.

Sam's just staring at him like he’s worried Dean's dealing with some unreported head trauma. “Yeah, I know. I was there. Jack opened the portal, we went into the void.” Sam's gaze flicks briefly over to Cas to say, _'I expect this kinda stupidity from Dean, but you too, man?’_ Slowly he finishes recalling, “We got Cas home. You've been back together since.”

At least Cas is in just as much disbelief that Sam isn’t catching on as Dean is. That’s reassuring.

“No, like, biblically,” Dean presses, gesturing between him and Cas. For emphasis, he laces their hands together and holds it up for Sam to see.

“Okay?”

Has his brother always been this oblivious? Is he just realizing this?

“Dude,” Dean says, spelling it out for him, past the point of tact. “Last night? Me and him? We had sex. Awesome, mind-blowing, lost-feeling-in-my-legs-for-ten-whole-minutes, two _back-to-back_ rounds of—”

“Ugh, okay, okay, stop. What the hell is wrong with you? Gross, Dean.” Sam makes a face like he’s mentally bleaching his brain, and before Dean can work up any offense to that, he continues primly, “I don’t go into disturbing detail about me and Eileen. You can log your sex life with someone else.”

Call him slow on the uptake, but he’s realizing something here. Sam isn’t surprised. Scarred, sure, but no light went off in his eyes, almost like—

“Hold up, you already _knew_?”

That’s when Sam gets it. What this is. Or should have been. “Oh,” he says, his eyes widening. But then they narrow. “Oh. You didn’t think I—? Dean, c'mon, like I don’t have eyes?”

Dean blasts some accusation Cas’s way, who got a little too handsy over beers the other night.

“No—Dean,” Sam huffs, coming to Cas's defense with a scowl that softens soon after. “I’ve known. For years. I guess I just gave up thinking you’d ever wanna talk about it.”

Every word is like a new smack to his head. If Cas wasn’t still at his side, still gripping his hand, he might've bailed, just to go emotionally repress elsewhere.

Cas says, “Huh,” and it sounds curious more than anything else.

Gently, Sam laughs. “Guys. C'mon. You said you don’t like sports, but I've been a spectator for _years_. The makeups and breakups, the moon-eyes, the—the 'profound bond,'” he imitates gruffly, and Dean pulls his hand out of Cas's, not liking the turn this has taken.

“That was all you,” he blames Cas, with no sting.

“Yeah, and you too, Dean,” Sam says, still treading carefully. “Remember the whole Godstiel, power trip thing? You lost it? Or after Purgatory? Or, okay, when Cas died and—” 

“Good talk,” Dean says over him, backing up out of the room. Just one foot behind the other. He barely resists the urge to shoot off some finger-guns, embarrassed that Sam's calling him out on a decade of pining.

Cas watches him go. “Are you alright?”

“Absolu—” He smacks into the doorframe. The cabinet beside it jostles. Something inside falls over. That’s cool. “I’m awesome.”

“Dean.” Sam cuts the teasing and tells him, genuinely, “I’m happy for you. Both of you,” he says, his eyes meeting Cas's for a moment. “All kidding aside. I know what it took to get here, and—you deserve it.”

Turns out, the sincerity is somehow worse.

Cas looks a little misty-eyed as he says, “Thank you, Sam.”

Dean feels the heaviness of it too, but he bites out, “Alright, save the eulogy for my funeral,” which gets him twin glares from Sam and Cas both. 

Now that the energy has swung back around his way, he feels buoyant, carefree. And pretty dang vindictive. 

Speaking of moon-eyes: he levels a pretty loaded gaze Cas's way, one full of seduction. Cas catches on pretty quick.

“Dean would like to share something with me, in another room,” he tells Sam by way of casually exiting. 

Sam does not miss Dean's leer. He turns away, shielding himself like they’re gonna get it on right then and there. “You guys, no. C’mon. We need to establish some courtesy rules—” 

“No time, Sammy,” Dean tells him, tugging Cas out the kitchen and down the hall. He yells obnoxiously, “Gonna go _BONE CAS_ ,” and considers Sam's repulsed yelp a personal victory.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1: takes place at the end of season 4, before the big apocalyptic showdown
> 
> Part 2: takes place in early season 5, after "Free To Be You and Me"
> 
> Part 3: takes place in Purgatory
> 
> Part 4: vaguely takes place during the s8 arc of Cas wanting to be a hunter
> 
> Part 5: takes place after episode 9x06
> 
> Anddd the last part is post-episode 15x18.


End file.
